


You've Never Been Skating?

by MagnoliaDonaire24



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I Tried, Ice Skating, M/M, Winter, i don't really know what I'm doing here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:53:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnoliaDonaire24/pseuds/MagnoliaDonaire24
Summary: It is wintertime, and John Adams is determined to force Congress to have a good time.By physical force, if necessary.





	You've Never Been Skating?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm rather new to posting on AO3, though I have been reading stories here for quite some time. I'm not too good at formatting, unfortunately. Anyways, I wrote this story some time ago; while the story isn't too long, I was sort of happy with it. Hope you enjoy!

It was the coldest day John Dickinson had ever experienced in his life.

By Mr. Jefferson’s reading, the temperature was far below freezing. Every sensible man in the room was buried in his work, each to their own. A fire roared in the hearth, kept burning by McNair and Co. and twinkling with merriment.

Mr. Hancock was half-asleep, eyes half-lidded and fingers crossed over his torso. He, along with the majority of the Northern and Southern delegates, were bundled up.

Rutledge sat at his desk, attempting to write. The man wore no cloak, only his white paisley floral waistcoat. His hands shook so badly from the cold that his task proved impossible, and he dropped his quill-pen with a sigh.

“Neddy, you ought to have followed my advice and purchased a winter cloak,” Dickinson scolded him gently, though his tone was stern.

“It would ruin the outfit,” the South Carolinian snapped defensively, shivering.

Quite suddenly, the doors were thrown open with a bang, and a short figure burst through.

“Keep it down, John. I’m trying to sleep,” Franklin grumbled, not even needing to open his eyes to know that it was the Massachusetts delegate.

Adams grinned, cheeks flushed red from the cold and pure exhilaration. His tan, fur-lined cloak was coated with a fine power of snow, as was his graying ebony hair. His blue eyes gleamed with excitement. Even the tip of his nose was pink with cold, and his hair was rather wind-swept.

“...did you walk here?” Dickinson blinked.

“Indeed, good sirs! Mr. Hancock, I propose Congress is adjourned for today,” John grinned. 

“You have the most peculiar expression upon your face, Mr. Adams,” Thomson blinked.

“He always does,” Jefferson remarked quietly. “Rather endearing.”

Though the comment was said with sarcasm, the Braintree lawyer could hear the true overtones of the quip. He smiled faintly as the Virginian seconded his motion.

“I would like to bring all of you gentlemen to see something quite magnificent,” John continued, pacing in front of Hancock’s desk. “I think you would appreciate it, and lord knows we need to take a break from being at each other’s throats…”

“Hear hear,” Franklin muttered.

Abigail, in one of their letters, had given him the idea. He could practically see her standing before him, crisp voice as soothing and welcoming as a breeze on a hot summer’s day.

_“John, dear, it would do all of you good to get out for a bit. Heaven knows you men spend all day—and night—working harder than you ought to—”_

_“Debatable for some, madam,” John found himself smiling slightly._

_“—and you need a break,” Abigail continued, hands on her hips in a rather defiant manner. “For once, John, you ought to do as I say.”_

_“Done, madam. Done,” he smirked playfully. “Till I return…”_

_“Till then, John,” she smiled wistfully._

The Braintree lawyer slipped back to the present, grinning even broader. “Gentlemen, follow me.”

He practically skipped out of the room as the remaining delegates exchanged glances.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Jefferson muttered, pulling on his cloak. “Come along, all of you, before I change my mind and let him come back and beat you with his ineffectual fists.”

It took a bit of goading, but eventually everyone was up and pulling on their cloaks. Edward was still shivering mightily.

“What is this marvellous surprise you’ve dragged all of us out here to see?” Samuel Chase snapped, the cold irritating him quite a bit. The delegates had all spilled out onto the back steps of the Pennsylvania State House, grumbling and grousing about the cold.

Wordlessly, Adams gestured to the open park beyond, beaming. The chatter ceased as each man took in the sight.

Philadelphia was frozen over. It was as if some external force had consigned the land to a bleak and frigid outlook. Nary a person was in sight; the streets were empty and the city lay dormant. A few flurries had begun to fall once again, giving the air a rather splendid wintry ambience. The fluffy, puffy white clouds in the sky above drifted lazily to and fro, blown by the gentlest of breezes.

Each tree lining the back path was dusted with a coating of snow, perfectly powdered like tiny little mountains. The ice glittered, so much white proving to be nearly blinding. The fountain, and indeed the pond in the back, had solidly frozen over.

“Why, it’s beautiful,” Roger Sherman breathed, taking it in with a broad glance. “I haven’t seen a winter so splendid for many a year…”

“It is rare indeed to see such a pretty sight,” Judge Wilson mused, for once able to speak his mind without Dickinson’s ‘help’. “Rare indeed.”

“You obvious-LEE brought us out here for a reason, Johnny boy,” Richard Henry Lee grinned. “What might that——...Johnny? Where’d you go?”

Indeed, Adams had disappeared. John Hancock gazed around, mildly confused, before shrugging.

“Off cracking the whip?” Benjamin guessed, grinning.

“Wrong again, Franklin!”

This triumphant, nasally Bostonian cry of victory came from behind all of the delegates, who turned to face the hall once more.

“You must be crazy.”

These not-quite-tactful words were uttered by one unbelieving Mr. Jefferson, who burst forth from the crowd to aid his friend.

“Mr. Jefferson, although I appreciate the help, I am perfectly capable of doing this myself,” Adams coughed, adjusting his grip on the rope he was pulling. “Good god, I am obnoxious and disliked enough that none of you all ever help me with much of anything.”

He paused in his task, giving each and every man before him a solid opportunity to feel ashamed.

“Unfortunately, I digress. I have taken the liberty of heeding my dearest Abigail’s advice and preparing some hot chocolate, for we will certainly freeze out here without something to keep us warm,” John continued, lugging the cart out of the door and onto the top step before pausing to wipe his brow.

“Johnny, you can cook?” Livingston queried, eyebrows raised.

“You can?”

“John!”

“Who’d have thought it?”

The Braintree native grinned at them. “Indeed, my good sirs. Now, feel free to help yourself to a cup—good god, Edward, you’re practically convulsing!” he exclaimed.

The poor South Carolinian, susceptible to both extreme heat and extreme cold, was shivering so badly his entire body was shaking.

“At this rate, I’ll end up a human icicle,” he moaned.

Quite suddenly, Adams did something nobody would have ever expected him to; unpinning his own cloak, he tossed it over Rutledge’s shoulders.

“There, Mr. Rutledge. Better?"

Edward blinked before furiously nodding his thanks. The delegates whispered amongst themselves, surprised—dare I say, shocked.

“Have you been drinking, John?” Dickinson laughed awkwardly, throat uncomfortably dry.

“I am not drunk on liquor; rather, on the spirit of the season,” the fiery Massachusetts native replied.

“It /is/ that time of year, you know,” Reverend Witherspoon added, positively beaming.

“Yes, yes, well, I daresay that we shall all have our fair share of wintry festivities,” Hancock laughed. “I must say, Mr. Adams, you have surprised me yet again. Surprised us all, I should think.” The Continental Congress President’s eyes twinkled as he continued in his rumbly low baritone.

“I’m sure we all have at least one thing to be thankful for, even in the midst of this snowbound chaos we’re trapped in. I know you all would rather be anywhere but here, but you’re here, so deal with it,” he chuckled. Several of the other delegates laughed as well, clearly agreeing with his statements.

Lyman, kind soul that he was, had doled out a ladle of chocolate for each man present. He passed these out with the aid of McNair; the Georgian couldn’t help but smile when viewing the scene before him.

“You’ve done quite the feat, Mr. Adams. Not a single disagreement do I hear,” Hall chuckled.

“Thank you, Dr. Hall, but my dearest Abi deserves the credit. ‘Twas her proposal, after all,” John responded, a hint of pride in his voice.

By this point, many of the delegates had begun to wander throughout the frozen park, dividing off into their own little groups. It didn’t take the Bostonian lawyer all that long to spy his friend, Mr. Jefferson, over by the back of the fountain.

“It truly seems a wonderland, does it not?” he chuckled, catching the Virginian by surprise. Thomas jumped slightly before offering the Northerner the mirrored sentiment of his own smile.

“Indeed. It has been some time since I have seen such a hard winter,” the quiet writer remarked after a few seconds. He clasped his hands behind his back, thinking for a moment before continuing.

“I recall doing something special—aside from the holidays, of course—but we never got much of a chance to sled or skate—”

“You’ve never been ice skating?” Adams interrupted him, tone incredulous. “My good sir, you must let me teach you. Winter is not winter without it!” he cried, arms flailing.

Jefferson chuckled at the sight, amused by the short Northerner’s actions. “Alright, John, alright, but bear in mind I’ve never done it before. It may take me some time to learn.”

The Braintree native scoffed at this statement, grabbing Thomas’ hands and pulling him towards the frozen pond in the back. The sudden movement caught the Southerner off-guard, and he stumbled, but he managed to remain upright. Many of the surrounding delegates chuckled appreciatively at this moment of comedic interlude.

“Sit down here,” John instructed, pointing to a nearby bench.

Thomas did as requested, bending his knees at a rather awkward angle in order to settle his tall frame on the bench with some semblance of comfort. Nervously, he smoothed his ink-stained hands over his trousers, humming quietly to himself.

Quite suddenly, Adams popped up again from wherever he’d disappeared to. Jefferson caught a glimpse of two shining silver blades before the man ducked down again.

“He has a funny look on his face,” he grumbled to Franklin, who was sitting nearby.

“Doesn’t he always?” Benjamin replied, chuckling. “Rather endearing, as you put it.”

“Yes, well—”

“Alright, Mr. Jefferson, stand up,” Adams interrupted him yet again, popping up once more. He held out his hands expectantly, palms up.

The Virginian disregarded the offered help, pushing himself off of the bench and vaulting to his feet. “I don’t see what’s so hard about—”

He let out a shriek of surprise as he wobbled forward, then fell, knees buckling.

“Careful there,” John chuckled, catching Thomas’ hands with ease and preventing the taller man from falling to the ground. ‘Wouldn’t want you getting hurt, now, would we?”

A few of their fellow delegates, including Mr. Hancock and Lewis Morris, were chuckling slightly at the gangly Southerner’s near mishap. The look in Adams’ eyes, however, was warm and inviting—a vision Jefferson never thought he’d see from the lawyer’s icy blue hues.

“Do try again, Mr. J. We haven’t got all day,” the Bostonian continued, chuckling. “I’ll be right here; you needn’t fear falling.”

Slowly, hesitantly, the Virginian rose to his feet. His heart thudded as he momentarily lost balance yet again, and he clung to the Massachusetts native out of fright.

“How does one balance, on such thin blades?” he quipped, noting that John had been aiding him for a full five minutes and hadn’t so much as wobbled once.

There was an uncanny gleam in Adams’ eye as he responded, grinning rather wolfishly. “Practice, my dear Jefferson. And I daresay that I’ll have you skating circles around me by the time we finish,” he laughed.

“I doubt that,” Thomas mumbled, feeling his nerves spike as his knees buckled once again.

It was actually quite comedic to see, really, the short Bostonian completely supporting the weight of the tall Virginian writer. The fact that Jefferson continued to stumble and flail about only heightened the superfluosity of their extreme height difference, prompting many a laugh.

John spoke not a single word as he guided Thomas onto the surface of the pond. The slippery qualities of the ice only increased his fear, and he let out a little squeak as he clung to the Northerner. His hands clenched the Braintree native’s hands tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

“Calm down, Thomas,” Adams instructed quietly, voice as cool and calming as a summer breeze in the midst of July. “You’ll make things harder for yourself if you panic.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Jefferson followed the given instructions and attempted to calm himself down as much as he could.

“The trick to learning to balance, besides long practice of course, is being able to center yourself and keep the blades straight,” John continued. He tried his hardest to keep his voice rhythmic, so as to help his friend remain calm.

It was a rather big pond, surrounded by half-dead reeds and overgrown with various weeds. The surface had frozen nicely, reflecting the light of the garish sun when it chose to reappear from behind its cloud-lined curtain.

Plus, it was shallow. Which meant that if the ice cracked and broke, they probably wouldn’t drown.

“Observe,” Adams said shortly, before letting go of Thomas’ hands and skating backwards a pace. The normally reserved delegate let out another yelp, stumbling backwards and ending up on his behind. Though he tried, John could not resist a small snicker at this.

“You must keep the blade’s thin, flat edge down against the ice at all times. To not do so will result in falling, painfully mortifying situations, and the gaining of a strong sense of humiliation.” Pleased that his pithy statements were able to draw a few chuckles from the nervous Virginian, John skated backwards a bit further before beginning to display some techniques.

At first, it was simple. He skated forward a few paces, demonstrating both a simple step forward and a slightly more advanced circular skate. After this, however, he seemed to get a bit distracted, and his movements became more complex—a spin here, a jump there, and the occasional extension.

The other delegates watched in awe as Adams continued to glide in circles across the pond, the tails of his tan frock coat fluttering behind him. The Bostonian’s normally pale cheeks were bright pink with cold and exhilaration, even moreso than they had been earlier.

Rutledge tugged the Massachusetts man’s cloak tighter around his shoulders as Lyman put a hand on his arm. He was considerably warmer now.

Eventually, Jefferson managed to hobble a few steps forward on the ice. As John skated by, he grabbed his friend’s hands, and away he went.

“You’re a fast learner, Mr. J.,” Adams chuckled, eyes sparkling as he pulled the other man just the slightest bit closer.

“Well, I certainly have an excellent teacher, Mr. A.,” Thomas replied, grinning as he spun the Braintree native around. John laughed, managing to remain upright despite being caught by surprise.

“We shall see about that, Thomas. We shall see…”

Dickinson shifted his weight, leaning slightly upon his walking stick as he gazed at Jefferson and Adams.

“...wish I could do that,” he mumbled quietly to himself.


End file.
